The Lone Wolf by Louis Joseph Vance (ebook reader browser txt) 📖

thief caught in his

crime by his conscience—or whatever it was, what for want of a better

name he must call his conscience: this thing within him that revolted

from his purpose, mutinied against the dictates of his Self, and

stopped his hand from reaping the harvest of his cunning and daring;

this sense of honour and of honesty that in a few brief days had grown

more dear to him than all else in life, knitting itself inextricably

into the fibre of his being, so that to deny it were against Nature….

 

He closed his eyes to shut out the accusing vision, and knelt on,

unstirring, though torn this way and that in the conflict of man’s dual

nature.

 

Minutes passed without his knowledge.

 

But in time he grew more calm; his hands relaxed, the muscles of his

brow smoothed out, he breathed more slowly and deeply; his set lips

parted and a profound sigh whispered in the stillness. A great

weariness upon him, he rose slowly and heavily from the floor, and

stood erect, free at last and forever from that ancient evil which so

long had held his soul in bondage.

 

And in that moment of victory, through the deep hush reigning in the

house, he detected an incautious footfall on the parquetry of the

reception-hall.

XXII TRAPPED

It was a sound so slight, so very small and still, that only a

super-subtle sense of hearing could have discriminated it from the

confused multiplicity of almost inaudible, interwoven, interdependent

sounds that make up the slumberous quiet of every human habitation, by

night.

 

Lanyard, whose training had taught him how to listen, had learned that

the nocturnal hush of each and every house has its singular cadence,

its own gentle movement of muted but harmonious sound in which the

introduction of an alien sound produces immediate discord, and to which,

while at his work, he need attend only subconsciously since the least

variation from the norm would give him warning.

 

Now, in the silence of this old mansion, he detected a faint flutter of

discordance that sounded a note of stealth; such a note as no move of

his since entering had evoked.

 

He was no longer alone, but shared the empty magnificence of those vast

salons with one whose purpose was as furtive, as secret, as wary as his

own; no servant or watchman roused by an intuition of evil, but one who

had no more than he any lawful business there.

 

And while he stood at alert attention the sound was repeated from a

point less distant, indicating that the second intruder was moving

toward the library.

 

In two swift strides Lanyard left the shelter of the screen and took to

cover in the recess of one of the tall windows, behind its heavy velvet

hangings: an action that could have been timed no more precisely had it

been rehearsed; he was barely in hiding when a shape of shadow slipped

into the library, paused beside the massive desk, and raked the room

with the light of a powerful flash-lamp.

 

Its initial glare struck squarely into Lanyard’s eyes, dazzling them,

as he peered through a narrow opening in the porti�res; and though the

light was instantly shifted, for several moments a blur of peacock

colour, blending, ebbing, hung like a curtain in the darkness, and he

could see nothing distinctly—only the trail traced by that dancing

spot-light over walls and furnishings.

 

When at length his vision cleared, the newcomer was kneeling in turn

before the safe; but more light was needed, and this one, lacking

Lanyard’s patience and studious caution, turned back to the desk, and,

taking the reading-lamp, transferred it to the floor behind the screen.

 

But even before the flood of light followed the dull click of the

switch, Lanyard had recognized the woman.

 

For an instant he felt dazed, half-stunned, suffocating, much as he had

felt with Greggs’ fingers tightening on his windpipe, that week-old

night at Troyon’s; he experienced real difficulty about breathing, and

was conscious of a sickish throbbing in his temples and a pounding in

his bosom like the tolling of a great bell. He stared, swaying….

 

The light, gushing from the opaque hood, made the safe door a glare,

and was thrown back into her intent, masked face, throwing out in sharp

silhouette her lithe, sweet body, indisputably identified by the

individual poise of her head and shoulders and the gracious contours

of her tailored coat.

 

She was all in black, even to her hands, no trace of white or any

colour showing but the fair curve of the cheek below her mask and the

red of her lips. And if more evidence were needed, the intelligence

with which she attacked the combination, the confident, business-like

precision distinguishing her every action, proved her an apt pupil in

that business.

 

His thoughts were all in a welter of miserable confusion. He knew that

this explained many things he would have held questionable had not his

infatuation forbidden him to consider them at all, lest he be disloyal

to this woman whom he adored; but in the anguish of that moment he

could entertain but one thought, and that possessed him altogether—that

she must somehow be saved from the evil she contemplated….

 

But while he hesitated, she became sensitive to his presence; though he

had made no sound since her entrance, though he had not even stirred,

somehow she divined that he—someone—was there in the recess of the

window, watching her.

 

In the act of opening the safe—using the memorandum of its combination

which he had jotted down in her presence—he saw her pause, freeze to a

pose of attention, then turn to stare directly at the porti�re that hid

him. And for an eternal second she remained kneeling there, so still

that she seemed not even to breathe, her gaze fixed and level, waiting

for some sound, some sign, some tremor of the curtain’s folds, to

confirm her suspicion.

 

When at length she rose it was in one swift, alert movement. And as she

paused with her slight shoulders squared and her head thrown back

defiantly, challengingly, as one without will of his own but drawn

irresistibly by her gaze, he stepped out into the room.

 

And since he was no more the Lone Wolf, but now a simple man in agony,

with no thought for their circumstances—for the fact that they were

both housebreakers and that the slightest sound might raise a

hue-and-cry upon them—he took one faltering step toward her, stopped,

lifted a hand in a gesture of appeal, and stammered:

 

“Lucy—you–-”

 

His voice broke and failed.

 

She didn’t answer, more than by recoiling as though he had offered to

strike her, until the table stopped her, and she leaned back as if

glad of its support.

 

“Oh!” she cried, trembling—“why_—why_ did you do it?”

 

He might have answered her in kind, but self-justification passed his

power. He couldn’t say, “Because this evening you made me lose faith

in everything, and I thought to forget you by going to the devil the

quickest way I knew—this way!”—though that was true. He couldn’t say:

“Because, a thief from boyhood, habit proved too strong for me, and I

couldn’t withstand temptation!”—for that was untrue. He could only

hang his head and mumble the wretched confession: “I don’t know.”

 

As if he hadn’t spoken, she cried again: “Why—why did you do it? I

was so proud of you, so sure of you, the man who had turned straight

because of me!… It compensated… But now…!”

 

Her voice broke in a short, dry sob.

 

“Compensated?” he repeated stupidly.

 

“Yes, compensated!” She lifted her head with a gesture of impatience:

“For this—don’t you understand?—for this that I’m doing! You don’t

imagine I’m here of my own will?—that I went back to Bannon for any

reason but to try to save you from him? I knew something of his power,

and you didn’t; I knew if I went away with you he’d never rest until

he had you murdered. And I thought if I could mislead him by lies for

a little time—long enough to give you a chance to escape—I thought

—perhaps—I might be able to communicate with the police, denounce

him–-”

 

She hesitated, breathless and appealing.

 

At her first words he had drawn close to her; and all their talk was

murmurings. But this was quite instinctive; for both were beyond

considerations of prudence, the one coherent thought of each being

that now, once and forever, all misunderstanding must be done away

with.

 

Now, as naturally as though they had been lovers always, Lanyard took

her hand, and clasped it between his own.

 

“You cared as much as that!”

 

“I love you,” she told him—“I love you so much I am ready to sacrifice

everything for you—life, liberty, honour–-”

 

“Hush, dearest, hush!” he begged, half distracted.

 

“I mean it: if honour could hold me back, do you think I would have

broken in here tonight to steal for Bannon?”

 

“He sent you, eh?” Lanyard commented in a dangerous voice.

 

“He was too cunning for me… I was afraid to tell you… I meant to

tell—to warn you, this evening in the cab. But then I thought perhaps

if I said nothing and sent you away believing the worst of me—perhaps

you would save yourself and forget me–-”

 

“But never!”

 

“I tried my best to deceive him, but couldn’t. They got the truth from

me by threats–-”

 

“They wouldn’t dare–-”

 

“They dare anything, I tell you! They knew enough of what had happened,

through their spies, to go on, and they tormented and bullied me until

I broke down and told them everything… And when they learned you had

brought the jewels back here, Bannon told me I must bring them to

him—that, if I refused, he’d have you killed. I held out until

tonight; then just as I was about to go to bed he received a telephone

message, and told me you were driving a taxi and followed by Apaches

and wouldn’t live till daylight if I persisted in refusing.”

 

“You came alone?”

 

“No. Three men brought me to the gate. They’re waiting outside, in the

park.”

 

“Apaches?”

 

“Two of them. The other is Captain Ekstrom.”

 

“Ekstrom!” Lanyard cried in despair. “Is he–-”

 

The dull, heavy, crashing slam of the great front doors silenced him.

XXIII MADAME OMBER

Before the echo of that crash ceased to reverberate from room to room,

Lanyard slipped to one side of the doorway, from which point he could

command the perspective of the salons together with a partial view of

the front doors. And he was no more than there, in the shadow of the

porti�res, when light from an electrolier flooded the reception-hall.

 

It showed him a single figure, that of a handsome woman, considerably

beyond middle age but still a well-poised, vigorous, and commanding

presence, in full evening dress of such magnificence as to suggest

recent attendance at some State function.

 

Standing beneath the light, she was restoring a key to a brocaded

handbag. This done, she turned her head and spoke indistinguishably

over her shoulder. Promptly there came into view a second woman of

about the same age, but even more strong and able of appearance—a

serving-woman, in plain, dark garments, undoubtedly madame’s maid.

 

Handing over the brocaded bag, madame unlatched the throat of her

ermine cloak and surrendered it to the servant’s care.

 

Her next words were audible, and reassuring in as far as they

indicated ignorance of anything amiss.

 

“Thank you, Sidonie. You may go to bed now.”

 

“Madame will not need me